


His Savior

by SpookyLichQueen



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:15:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpookyLichQueen/pseuds/SpookyLichQueen
Summary: Saint-14 is the greatest Titan who ever lived, but to become that he had to meether. During one of Saint's darkest hours, a mysterious Guardian appears and rescues him from what was sure to be his final death. After she shows him a glimpse of a possible future, she disappears with a promise that they will meet again if he doesn't give up on himself and his people. Saint-14 decides to keep fighting, setting himself on the path to becoming a legend. The greatest Titan who ever lived will find his savior again one day, and he is determined to make her proud.
Relationships: Female Guardian/Saint-14 (Destiny), Guardian/Saint-14 (Destiny), Saint-14 (Destiny)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 68





	1. The Hunter

Saint-14 had never imagined himself to be a weak man. Ever since he'd been reborn in the Traveler's light, he'd relished in the overwhelming power that flowed at his very fingertips. He'd embraced his new destiny as a Titan. He'd accepted his role as both a steadfast bulwark and a devastating weapon of mass destruction with remarkable ease...and no short amount of pride.

That is, until now.

Zephyr Station had been a monumental failure. A catastrophe. So many lives had been lost to the hellscape-in-disguse that the Vex had created on Mercury. Even more were lost to the skittering vultures that had followed their colony ship from Earth. Entire families...demolished by the Fallen. Now Saint-14 was face to face with the consequences of his own hubris. Mangled bodies lay scattered around him as he desperately channeled his dwindling light into his ward, their glassy, lifeless eyes boring into him—a macabre reminder of his weakness. 

Geppetto blasted a repeating warning over the emergency bandwidth, alerting any who may be coming to his aid that the station was lost. All was lost. He couldn't bear the thought of others dying trying to save him now. It would be more blood on his hands and more weight on his tired soul than he could possibly bear. The Fallen seemed to sense his resolve faltering. They'd already learned that challenging his ward was a death sentence, but they were exceptionally patient. Instead, they stalked just outside of it, practically salivating as they chattered to each other in bloodthirsty anticipation for when he could no longer keep going. 

The moment was drawing ever nearer...Saint could feel it. He may have been an Exo, but even he had his limits. He'd fought hard, but exhaustion plucked at every wire and circuit in his body. It was time for him to make peace with his fate, now. 

_I am so very sorry, my little friend._

Saint poured all of his regret and pain into that one sentence, speaking silently through his link to his Ghost. They were going to die. A return to the Light....no resurrections this time. The little bot could feel his resignation, and her grief matched his as she responded in kind.

_It has been an honor to be your Ghost._

Just as Saint was about to let his Light fall, the comms in his helmet fizzled with the static of an incoming transmission. 

“Hello? Can … copy? This... Vanguard ID ... 6628... acknowledge...”

Saint-14 knew he didn't technically have a heart, but he swore that he felt it plummet through his chassis and into the muck at his feet. _Traveler's Light, no...._

“This is Saint-14! The Fallen have overrun Zephyr Station. If you can hear me, turn back! I repeat, this is Saint-14, and the Fallen have overrun Zephyr Station...” Saint shouted into the comms, praying that whoever was on the other end could make out his desperate warning through the interference on the channel.

“Saint, hold your position. You have an armed Guardian incoming!” A determined voice responded. It was filtering clearly through his comms now and it pointedly ignored the Exo's previous transmission. 

Saint felt the hot burn of rage starting to claw at the hollows of his chest, licking through him like he'd been shot point blank by a Golden Gun. 

"Who is this?” He hissed. His hands had balled into fists, his grip so tight that he could feel the plasteel plating of his fingers protesting under the abuse. 

“Just stay alive, Titan,” came the only response.

If he'd been a Sunbreaker, he would have gone nuclear by now. Instead, he worked on channeling his fury into the ward surrounding him and the bodies that he was protecting. His shoulders ached and his arms screamed in protest as he pushed his Light to its limit, but he felt a small glimmer of satisfaction as he watched the Fallen scramble away from the swelling perimeter with indignant roars.

_Geppetto, can you pinpoint them? Who are they?_

His Ghost waited for a moment before answering, her confusion palpable through their mind link.

_They're not far from here....less than a klick and moving fast. Their signature is....unfamiliar, though, and very strange. Something odd is going on here._

Saint didn't know what to make of that, but he was sure that he didn't want the Guardian here. What if it was a Fallen trap or the Vex had done something to them during transmat? Geppetto answered the idea with a derisive snort. 

_Not likely. I think I'd be able to pick up on that, at least. This is something else..._

Saint ignored her and called to the mysterious stranger on the other end of the comms once again. They had to turn back...he had to steer them away from here. 

“Did you not hear what I said? All is lost, Guardian. Get out of here, and I will hold them off for as long as I can!” Saint roared, the frantic edge in his tone unmistakable, “The Fallen cannot be stopped! They do not negotiate, their bargains are lies! I've watched them burn and pillage whole villages in the Cosmodrome!”

There was no answer on the channel to his desperate pleas, but Saint could swear he could make out the muffled patter of gunfire and panicked screeching in the distance. The Exo's eyes landed on the body of a young colonist in front of him—a small Awoken boy no older than ten. He'd been ripped to pieces by ether-starved Fallen, and Saint couldn't hide the violent retch as his innards heaved at the sight. 

“I have seen dregs _eat children...._ ” he spat, trying to get this would-be savior to see reason. There was to be no salvation here. This place was a death trap and he was already doomed. 

More silence on the comms, but he could definitely hear the sounds of battle now. The piercing staccato rhythm of an auto rifle echoed down into the field, punctuated by the heavy boom of a grenade as it exploded in the distance. The Fallen had noticed the sounds of destruction as well, and their focus was no longer on him. Instead they grasped their rifles tighter in their claws and trained their eyes to an opening in the wall behind him. A nervous chatter ran through their ranks as they waited, but it was quickly silenced by their Captain with a sharp, authoritative bark. Eventually a smothering silence hung heavy over the area except for the soft buzz of static in Saint's helmet. Eternities seemed to pass, and dread trickled into Saint's chest like ice water. Where were they?

His silent worry was quelled only seconds later. The head of a nearby dreg exploded in a font of glowing ether—an arrow gleaming from what was left of the stump. The uneasy chittering from before made its way through the ranks again as the Fallen raised their rifles. Another arrow passed by with a whisper and lodged itself between the eyes of a vandal. And then another and another. The Captain seemed incredulous as it watched its ranks drop like flies, standing frozen before snapping to its senses. The massive Eliksni roared what Saint could only assume were orders before issuing a bone-rattling battle cry. All at once, artillery and rifles alike were unloaded into the yawning hallway behind him, and Saint could only watch on in abject horror. Guardian or not, no one was surviving that onslaught. 

Before he could fall too far into despair, he heard the telltale sound of boosters firing and soft footsteps crunching through the rubble behind him. 

“You didn't think that we would give up on you that easily, did you?” The voice from the comms whispered.

Then he felt the gentle press of a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Saint's head whipped to the side and he could just make out the tell-tale shimmer of a body cloaked by void Light. If he hadn't been looking for it he would have missed it entirely.

“Y-you made it?” He whispered incredulously.

“Damn right we did. Just hold on a little longer for us. My Guardian could use the ward.” The voice responded. A Ghost. 

Saint nodded, praying silently to whoever was listening to give him the strength to at least keep them safe. The Guardian's shimmering silhouette shifted and he heard the sound of a gun being loaded. Then he watched as his new companion lurched out of the ward and unleashed hell.

In all his years he couldn't remember such a display of sheer power, and he knew that he would remember it for as long as he lived. 

The Guardian's invisibility faded—revealing a Hunter as she vaulted over the horde of Fallen— and Saint couldn't help but grin to himself as she began her work. She pelted the Fallen in a hail of bullets, cutting through dregs and vandals like a hot knife through butter. Ether trails burst from their bodies with screeching hisses, but Saint paid little attention to the carnage. Instead, his optics zeroed in on the Hunter mowing them down, watching with bated breath as she dodged and disappeared in another cloak of void. The Fallen were nearly frothing at the mouth now. Their enraged roars echoed off of the Vex architecture around him as they swiveled with their rifles, searching for their new source of misery. As if to answer, a grenade exploded in a pocket of dregs, vaporizing them instantly in a flash of violet void Light. 

The Hunter reappeared, hurtling over the crowd and raining down more gunfire as she slid into Saint's ward to buff her Light. In this close proximity he could feel it radiating around him, pulsating and strong...familiar yet foreign. The cool tendrils of whispering void twisted and caressed him through his armor, thrumming with a power that deeply overshadowed his own in his weakened state. It hit him with all of the force of a freight train, and he felt a breath that he didn't even know he had been holding hiss through his mouthplates as he gasped. 

She turned to face him briefly as she prepared herself to join the fray again, and he could feel her gaze through her helmet as he gave him a curt but reassuring nod. Then she flitted away just as quickly as she had came, dodging yet again and cloaking herself. This deadly dance between the Guardian and the Fallen continued, and Saint couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope as he watched her fight. Her strength was a sight to behold, a testament to the Traveler's blessing. She plowed through the horde with exceptional skill and lethal grace—her knifework and hand-to-hand combat alone leaving a wake of dead Fallen behind her. Distance shots were executed with pinpoint accuracy—her fingers practically flying as she let arrow after arrow fly from her bow. The larger mobs were decimated with her auto rifle and its deep reservoirs of ammunition. If she fell, her Ghost would pull her back up and she would sprint back into the fray with ruthless tenacity, fighting even harder than before. 

Just when it seemed she was getting ahead, reinforcements arrived. He should have known the Fallen would push back. These vultures didn't like to lose.

The skiff broke through the atmosphere with a crack like thunder and came to a shuddering halt above the battlefield. She sprinted back to the relative safety of Saint's bubble as it opened fire on them, covering the drop of the reinforcement troops from its bays. Saint glared as a massive servitor floated down from the craft behind the troops, already pumping the Fallen with streams of ether and working them into a mad frenzy. As if that wasn't bad enough, the Fallen had brought in another surprise for them. 

A Fallen Walker. 

He supposed that he should have been flattered that they would bring in heavy artillery for just the two of them, but instead he only felt the icy tendrils of dread trickle into his chest. This task....it was impossible, and he was so tired.

“Guardian...leave. Please.” He murmured hoarsely, his optics fixated on the lumbering tank before them.

The Hunter did not answer immediately. Instead, she drew herself to her full height as her Ghost peeked out from his hiding place beneath her hood. His eye blinked up at her as if in question, and there was an almost imperceptible nod of her head as she switched up her weapons. 

“We aren't leaving you here, Titan. I know you are tired, but can you hold out for just a little longer?” The Hunter asked, finally breaking her silence. 

Saint clenched his jaw and stared into the muck at his feet. Could he? He was so tired. He'd collapsed to his knee long ago, having lost the energy to stand. Every single molecule in his body was begging for relief, and his hands were trembling uncontrollably as he struggled to push his Light into his ward. Saint began to shake his head, but froze as the hunter's lithe frame crouched down in front of him. They were eye level now— _equals_ —and he could see every single spatter of Fallen blood, every dent in her armor, every speckled drop of mud and smudge of ash that coated her. 

“Saint? Can you hold out a little longer? For me?” She repeated, turning her gaze between him and the remaining Fallen behind her. 

He understood. Time was of the essence. Saint nodded weakly, saving his energy for this last fight. He would push through for her. She had come here to save him, and he would do as she asked. The exhausted Titan let out a feral roar, pushing all of his Light and energy into his barrier and ignoring the way his muscles screamed under the stress. Before he could say more, she was gone. The next time he saw her she was mid jump arc and unloading a grenade launcher into the hoard below. Fallen bodies catapulted into the air and limbs scattered over the scorched earth around them. She dodged effortlessly around her arena, raining carnage from all angles. 

The Captain fell within minutes, taken out by its own scorch canon in a rare form of poetic justice that had Saint bellowing like a mad man. Then the servitor fell, exploding in a shower of shrapnel and ether with loud screech and a deep mechanical wail. Only the tank stood now. 

She had saved it for last, dodging its artillery and decimating the horde of shanks that filed from the aft hatches while she thinned the out Fallen. Now, she slipped back into the ward for a brief moment, placing a steadying hand on Saint's shoulder as he struggled to bear the barrage of rockets the tank launched at his shield. The Hunter timed her next assault precisely, waiting only a heartbeat after the tank switched tactics. She leaped out from the ward and let her Light form into the shape of a bow in her hands, launching a volley of void-touched arrows into the legs of the tank. Each one burst into a mini nova, tethering the massive hunk of metal before the guard plates on its legs exploded off. The tank collapsed under its own colossal weight and Saint watched in awe as the head of the tank shifted forward, exposing the overheated core beneath. It glowed red hot—so hot that swore he could feel the heat from where he knelt as it radiated from the core in shimmering waves. 

The Hunter saw her chance and unloaded her arsenal. Grenades and bullets pelted into the core, sending shrapnel and coolant and oil flying. The onslaught was relentless, and he watched with bated breath as it struggled to reset. 

“Take it out, Guardian!” Saint roared, his voice crackling with static. 

“I know, _I know!_ ” She bellowed back, tossing another grenade into the core. 

It was the final straw. The tank exploded in cloud of dust and smoke, and Saint flinched as a violent shock wave sent the Hunter skidding backwards through the dirt. The long barrel of the tank's turret careened off to the side as the hulking metal beast collapsed to the ground with a heavy, earthshaking thud. Any Fallen that remained on the outskirts of the area fled, and the skiffs that had been waiting high in the atmosphere seemed to cut their losses as they turned tail and ran. Saint's Light receded with the danger. The Titan dropped his arms and he lurched forward on his hands and knees with a groan, ignoring the filth that seeped into the gloves under his gauntlets. 

He could hear the Guardian roaming around the battlefield, the occasional shot ringing through the air as they put a straggler out of their misery. Then their boots came to a halt in front of him. Saint glanced up weakly to see the Hunter extending a hand towards him, gazing down at him with an expectant air. He hesitated only for a moment before grasping it in his and pulling himself up with a heavy groan. 

“You...you fight like an animal, Guardian.” He began, resting his hands on his hips as he tried to steady the shaking in his legs. 

“We do what we can.” Her Ghost replied, flitting to rest above her shoulder with an absent twirl of its shell. The Guardian nodded in agreement, but pressed her hand to her chest with a small bow of thanks. 

“Another minute, and they would have eaten my Ghost. Fallen are monsters.” He spat, eyeing the carnage around him with a feeling of cruel satisfaction.

“Some are,” The little Ghost replied noncommittally, “Are you fit to fight, Titan?”

Saint shook his head and turned his back. There was a long moment of silence before he felt a presence beside him. The Guardian was waiting...he could feel her eyes boring into him from behind her faceless helmet. 

“This was supposed to be a garden world, Guardian.” Saint began softly, shuffling away from the Hunter and her insistent gaze, “Dozens of colonists came here to make a new life. They trusted that we would lead them to a safe haven...trusted that we would protect them.”

His voice modulator cracked as the guilt overwhelmed him, and the Hunter placed a hand on his pauldron with a feather-light touch. 

“But the Vex were here first,” He continued, roughly shaking off her hand, “They poisoned this planet. And then these...these... _things_. These Fallen, from the House of Rain. They followed us all the way from the Cosmodrome...and they destroyed us. We never should have come here.” 

There was another long moment of silence as both Guardians contemplated what to say. Saint was more than happy to leave it at that. He wasn't fit to fight anymore. He wasn't fit to do anything. He was a failure. 

“You are stronger than you think, Saint-14.” 

The Hunter broke the silence this time, her voice soft but stern. Her tone was confident with an air of finality that seemingly left no room for argument—like she had stated a well known fact rather than just proven herself a terrible judge of character. 

“Not strong enough.” He growled. 

The Guardian let out a small sigh before nodding to the Ghost hovering beside her. His tines twitched and twisted as he turned his eye to Saint, blinking owlishly before transmatting something into the Exo's line of vision. A...gun?

“What is this?” Saint breathed, gingerly taking the weapon into his hands. It was magnificent. Impeccably balanced, clean lines, and polished a gleaming silver.

“This is the Perfect Paradox. Built by my Guardian out of spare parts and Light and sheer will to aid you.” The Ghost replied. 

Saint felt his chest tighten as his fingertips brushed over the roman numerals inlaid in gold on the barrel. Fourteen. If he'd been able to cry....

“It's beautiful.” He murmured, at a sudden loss for words. The Hunter gave her small bow of thanks once more before turning her focus to her Ghost. 

“Rook, show him.” She ordered softly, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“We shouldn't...” It began—shell spinning nervously—before following up with a long-suffering sigh, “But when has that ever stopped us?”

The Ghost—Rook—turned back to Saint and flashed a hologram onto the ground around him. He was now standing in a sprawling metropolis; buildings and lights stretched out for yards in each direction with a massive tower standing tall above them. He could see a sturdy wall encircling the city, and floating above it all was the Traveler. _What was he seeing?_ Geppetto seemed just as curious, shimmering into view to take in the spectacle with a wide eye. 

“This is the last safe city of humanity. Hundreds of years from now.” Rook explained, “During the day, there are children laughing in the streets. When night falls, the people sleep in their homes. Not against the walls—weapons in hand—like the early days.”

“Like _my_ people.” Saint rumbled, letting the shame creep into his tone.

“These are your people, Saint. Their descendants.” Rook countered, “If you quit the fight, maybe you'll live forever. Your Ghost will protect you no matter what.”

Saint glanced over at Geppetto, who only bobbed once in the air in agreement. 

“But this Last City might never happen.”

Saint shook his head, feeling something akin to panic beginning to well up inside of him. 

“Everything that I've ever built has died. I've buried most of the people I've met. I-I can't do this. Not anymore, little Rook.”

Saint heard the Hunter behind him let out a heavy sigh, followed by the crunch of rubble under her boots. Rook's hologram disappeared with a flicker. Saint couldn't bear to turn around and face her, though he could feel her at his back. 

“We all make our own choices,” She began, her tone giving nothing away, “If you choose to continue...to fight for our people and the future we showed you, we will meet again. Good luck, Saint-14.” 

The Titan hesitated only for a moment before wheeling to face her, only to find that she had disappeared. Nothing betrayed that she had even been there except for the smoldering remains of the House of Rain, a shotgun forged of Light, and her boot prints impressed into the muck where she had stood behind him. 

Geppetto nudged her shell against his helmet with a soft clink, and he could feel her curiosity through their link. He stood in silence for a long while, staring at the boot prints left behind by the Guardian while he contemplated what to do next. 

“You know what we have to do. You know what's right.” Geppetto coaxed, the tines of her shell shifting as she spoke.

“I do...and I will do what must be done.” Saint sighed, “For our people, and to make my Guardian proud. I cannot waste the gift they have given me. I cannot waste my second chance.” 

“Well, it seems that we have work to do when we get home.” Geppetto replied, the excitement in her voice palpable. 

“Yes, but first we must take care of our people here. What's left of them...”

As he worked to lay the colonists to rest, his mind dwelt on his savior and everything she had shown him. He hadn't even asked her name after she'd saved his metal hide. Whoever she was, he somehow knew that she would keep her promise... that he would see her again. He hoped beyond hope that the next time that they met, he would be worthy of the unquestionable faith that she had in him.


	2. Troubled Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saint-14's Hunter returns, traversing the Corridors of Time to face down the Martyr Mind.

Striga-6 swallowed down a rare urge to dry heave as the Sundial started to spin up. She hated this part: the metallic screech of the machine as it turned, the ever-present stench of burning ozone, the way the air thudded against her as the giant blades spun faster and faster. 

“Are you ready, Guardian?” Osiris shouted. She fought the need to roll her eyes. Instead, she checked her weapons and gave him a stern nod in response.

Osiris didn't waste another second. Striga felt a nauseating tug—like an invisible hook yanking at her from somewhere behind where her belly button should be—followed by the sense of being sucked through a tube that was just a bit too small. It was over in mere seconds, but it always felt like hours to her. The final thundering boom of the Sundial still rattled in her chest, but it had disappeared just like before. 

Instead, she was now surrounded by an endless, blinding white expanse. A clinical, sterile world that seemed to have no beginning and no end; even the ground—though thankfully still solid—was white and blended seamlessly with rest of the landscape. Vertigo twisted at her vision, leaving her feeling like at any moment she would fall off into an abyss hidden away in the never ending white. A shiver skated down her spine as she turned about in place, her optics shifting wildly behind her helmet as she tried to get her bearings. 

“Rook...where are we?” She breathed, her voice echoing all around her. Off of what, she couldn't be sure. 

“This must be what Osiris called the Corridors of Time. At least a part of it... _somewhere_.” Rook answered. The little bot materialized beside her, turning in small circles as his own eye blinked in confusion.

Striga stared off into the expanse for a few long moments, suddenly struck with a mind-numbing helplessness. Something that she hadn't felt in a very, very long time. 

_What do I do, now?_

Striga breathed in deep and clutched her bow closer to her chest, viciously beating back her rising panic. She didn't have the luxury of turning this into a crisis. She needed to move. They were running out of time, and she could almost feel each second slipping away from her as she stood there asking herself stupid questions. 

“Can you give us a way point? Anything to get us started?” She asked, focusing her optics and turning to Rook. 

Her Ghost didn't have time to answer. Striga felt a familiar tug in her middle, like when she went through the Sundial but much less insistent. A soft beckon, as if the Corridors themselves were asking her to follow. Striga obeyed and turned. Glittering in the distance stood a massive, triangle-shaped gate, nestled into a pointed archway with flying spires stretching far into the expanse around it. Pieces of the spires floated in the air, the edges and points glinting in the light spilling from the open gate.

“Not sure I need to...” Rook finally replied, nudging her towards the gate.

Striga did a final weapons check before sprinting forward, no longer concerned with the white world around her. Only with the gate. Only with her mission. She had to save Saint-14. 

***

“Rook, I'm thinking we take Clover. Can you confirm?” Striga asked, picking her way over the twisted scraps of dead Vex. 

“Yes, Saint's light signature is strongest in this direction, and I think we're getting close.” Rook agreed, “How are you tracking him before me?” 

“Just call it a gut feeling.” Striga muttered, sprinting through the corridor with her bow at the ready.

 _Some gut_ , Rook responded through their link. She ignored the petulant edge to his tone, and pushed onward. Missions like this always left her feeling grateful for the strength of her Exo body. The corridors seemed to stretch on longer and longer after each door that she went through, but she only pushed herself harder. Faster. She couldn't stop now. She wouldn't. Whatever was leading her told her that she was close, just like Rook had said, and she knew that the Titan needed her now more than ever. She'd heard Saint-14's words when she entered the first gateway.

Even the Greatest Titan to Ever Live was a sitting duck without his Light. A very angry, Russian, head-butting duck...but vulnerable nonetheless, no matter how set he was on ripping the limbs from every Vex that came his way. 

Striga tore through the doorway into the next room with her bow drawn, only to find that it was mostly empty. Only a few Hobgoblins at the Corridor entrances and a web of lasers that no doubt could easily burn through her armor. She carefully picked her way through the room, focused on the Corridor marked with a diamond symbol on the pillar. Rook didn't even bother confirming. They both knew this was it. She could feel it.

As soon as she leapt through the door the Corridor shifted. The walls lined themselves with the smooth, flat rock that she had seen so many times in the doorway of the Infinite Forest, and the ground beneath her had given way to sand and rubble. Striga came barreling out of the final doorway into a scene that she had witnessed years ago.

Dunes of coarse, blackened sand that shifted in the wind. Looming Vex architecture that fused itself to the crumbling ruins of Mercury like a cancerous growth. A cold, dead Sun—its corpse stretching across the horizon like an omen. This was the world that she had seen in Osiris' simulant future—the dark reality that the Vex Collective had been working towards with Panoptes. No dark, no light, no life. 

“Now, where are we,” Rook hummed, his tone much too cheerful among the desolate scenery, “Topographical readouts match near-present Mercury. This is before I found you, and after Saint-14 launched his last mission to find Osiris!”

“Maybe. Something tells me that Mercury didn't look like this back then...at least not in our timeline.” Striga breathed, eyes fixated on the dark Sun in front of her. 

“No, I think I would have noticed.” Rook sassed. 

An explosion rang out among the spires and pillars around them, and Striga turned away from the dead star to look in the direction of the noise. 

“Is it Saint?” She asked, though she was pretty sure she knew the answer. 

“It has to be.” Rook replied. 

Rook's confirmation was enough have her moving again, her feet sinking into the sand and slowing her down as she scrambled up the hill. She switched to hopping among the rubble and jumping off of rocks to move faster, and was rewarded with a sight that left her feeling weak with relief. 

Saint-14 stood before a mountain of Vex scraps, the radiolaria dripping and seeping into the sand beneath his feet. Striga couldn't believe it, but somehow he was even bigger than she remembered. His armor had been bulked up considerably, seemingly every bit of it turned into some implement of war. His pauldrons and gauntlets were studded with sharp spikes, and metal plating had even been added the edges of his mark. The helmet was just as she remembered it though....aside from a few new dents. It's deep purple plume and lavender light glowed brightly in the dark around them, cloaking him in a vibrant, violet halo. 

Saint must have heard her approach. The Titan wheeled to face her—the Perfect Paradox aimed directly at her chest—before he froze in the way that only an Exo could. Stock still, like a statue. It lasted only a moment before he stowed his gun and lunged forward, closing the distance between them in seconds. Saint grabbed her by the shoulders, his hands rough and desperate as his grip tightened. Not enough to hurt but enough to be sure. 

“Guardian! Is it really you?” He asked, his voice crackling with static and edged with suspicion. Mistrust.

Striga didn't question it. She already understood. The Infinite Forest was a cruel prison—a place that picked at your sanity like a flock of buzzards, using time and memory against you. Ripping away your security in what was real and what was simulation one little piece at a time, and leaving you to question everything you thought you knew about yourself. About the people you knew. About the world. 

Saint-14 had been trapped this awful prison for so long, that she was honestly surprised that she hadn't found him stark raving mad. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, and an even more bitter anger towards Osiris. Striga reached out and grasped Saint's shoulder in return. She didn't miss the slight flinch as Saint prepared to dodge a blow, and she moved a little slower to show him she meant no harm. Saint needed to be reassured. He needed proof that this was real, and she knew that. Striga reached deep, channeling the void Light flowing through her and letting it pool in the palm pressed to Saint's arm. The cool, calming tendrils writhed around them in a display that she knew he would understand. 

The Vex can't recreate the Light. 

“I told you we would meet again, Saint-14.” She replied. 

“It _is_ you! You came back!” He exclaimed, “And just in time too. I was about to send Geppetto away!” 

His voice was so thick with relief that if she could have she would have cried.

“It's good to see you too, Titan. I can see you've been very busy.” She replied with a chuckle, nodding towards the heaping Vex scrapyard behind him, “Are you alright?”

Now that she was close to him she did a quick scan, checking him for any injuries that could be deemed life threatening. She had no doubt that he was strong, even without his Light. Exo bodies were built to be resilient—she knew that all too well—but he had fought _a lot_ of Vex. Saint seemed to pull himself together, releasing her shoulders with a soft pat before taking a half step back. 

“Physically yes, but I'm afraid that Martyr Mind has taken my Light.” He answered, his tone somber. 

As if on cue, the bone-rattling roar of a machine sounded in the distance and Striga gripped her bow a little tighter.

“Martyr Mind?” Rook asked, flitting into view. The little drone's voice was sharp with concern, and her own worry began grow heavy in the hollow of her chest.

“Yes. But now that you're here these Vex are do—”

Saint let out a pained cry as a cage of electricity and Vex energy crackled around him. Jagged arcs of lightning shackled him like an animal, twisting around his wrists and ankles even as he struggled against them. Striga's hand shot out reflexively to help, just as her Ghost was screaming in her head not to touch him. It didn't matter. Before she could grab him the Titan was gone. He reappeared in the distance, suspended in what looked like a Vex conflux with his arms and legs still bound. She could hear him roaring what she could only assume were curses in Russian as he fought to break free. They both knew full well that he couldn't....not without his Light. 

The unmistakable sign of a Vex arrival shimmered in the air around his prison, followed by the appearance of a Vex Hobgoblin...except this one had to be _at least_ two stories tall.

“Well, _shit_.” 

“Remind you of anyone?” Rook asked, phasing out of sight.

“Yeah. Brakion.” Striga spat, “Traveler's Light, I hate the Vex.”

***

Striga-6 knew she'd had more brutal fights since she'd been a Guardian. If she was honest, the Martyr Mind wasn't even close to the top of her list in the difficulty department. She had to give the Vex some credit, though. They'd made sure that it was in the running for the most annoying thing she had fought in a long time. The Martyr Mind was proving to be squirrelly, stubborn as hell, and _very angry_. Its line rifle had caught her snoozing on more than one occasion and getting close to it only left her vulnerable to its stomp attacks.... _of which there were many_. The never-ending stream of spawning Vex were also beginning to get under her skin. 

Saint, however, seemed to be enjoying the show. 

“Save some Vex for me, my friend! I'm trapped _not dead_!” He shouted. Striga bit back a chuckle and let her arrows fly, aiming for that little soft spot in their centers with each shot. 

As fun as it was to watch the Vex explode into a shower of metal limbs and mind fluid, she was anxious to end this. Saint needed his Light back, and she needed to complete her mission. She knew she was close. The Martyr Mind, for all of its size and aggression, was beginning to succumb, even after it had tried to avoid the inevitable by hiding behind a barrier a few times. The small armies that it had summoned in its stead were disposed of quickly, and each time the barrier was brought down the machine would scream its ire as it barreled forward with its line rifle already half charged. It hadn't made a difference. The battlefield was littered with flotsam—large chunks of the Martyr Mind's protective plating scattered among the broken bodies of its underlings— and charged radiolaria leaked from the holes her bullets and arrows had left in its chassis. 

Just eyeballing it, she figured that if she hit it right she could drop this machine here and now. Striga slunk from behind her cover and moved forward, maneuvering herself into a better position. Then she fired her boosters and vaulted herself into the air, her body careening towards the Martyr Mind. She could vaguely hear Saint-14 shouting something in Russian, but it was drowned out by the rush of Solar Light welling and raging through her. Striga reached deep, drawing on the flame inside and feeling it take the familiar form of knives between her fingers. At last, the Light in her reached its peak and Striga whirled, launching her Blade Barrage towards the Martyr Mind in a roaring volley of flame. 

She hit the ground with a thud, dodging behind cover with her bow at the ready before peering out to assess the damage. Striga swore under her breath as a line rifle charge grazed her helmet. The damn thing was still alive. 

Apparently, her aim had only been _mostly_ accurate. 

Several of her fiery knives had pierced the Vex mind's soft middle, and radiolaria spilled from the reservoir like a fountain. But her trajectory had been off. Two errant knives flew too high, lodging themselves into the Vex machine's head before it exploded under the abuse. Now there was a massive headless Vex chassis twitching and stuttering in place while firing its line rifle in any direction it pleased. 

_I think you might have made it worse_ , Rook mused. 

“You think?” Striga growled.

 _You should have used Golden Gun. You're better with it anyways_ , Rook continued. 

_Look here you sentient lump of moon rock..._

“You are even more vicious than I remember!” Saint bellowed, interrupting their internal tiff. 

Striga sighed before chancing another peek at the Hobgoblin. It had retreated behind its barrier again, meaning she had to farm yet another arc charge to bring it down. An annoyed scoff slid through her clenched mandibles at the thought. The air dimmed with the flickering arrival of more Vex, followed by the earsplitting wails and roars of furious machines. 

Enough was enough. 

Striga switched to her grenade launcher, loading the breech with deft hands before closing the chamber with a snap. 

_Try not to be too reckless, Striga. You've backed a wounded animal into a corner, and it's pissed_ , Rook warned, _It's going to come out of that barrier swinging hard_. 

Striga grunted an affirmative before dodging out of cover. The arc-laden Minotaur didn't even have a chance to charge up its Torch hammer before she was emptying the grenade launcher's drum into it's body. Mind fluid and metal shrapnel were flung in every direction as the Minotaur exploded in dramatic fashion, crumbling to the ground with a dull thud. Striga wasted no time. Ignoring the incoming fire from Goblins and Harpies, she sprinted towards the arc charge that had dropped from the Vex's corpse. The portal to drop the barrier appeared as soon as she had the charge in her hands, and she tanked through the heavy fire to dunk it. 

_Traveler, please let this be the end._

Rook had been right about the Martyr Mind coming out swinging. The headless nightmare lurched forward, firing wildly in every direction and stomping blindly. Lesser Vex were crushed under its bulk and sent flying into walls and pillars like ants. It did so much damage to its own pawns that Striga only had to pick off the stragglers before she set her sights on the Mind itself. She didn't even get off three shots before the Martyr Mind decided it had also had enough. 

Striga could feel the cage before it formed around her— the arc energy prickling at her plating and filling her peripheral vision with static. She could even taste the ozone on the air around her. It took only a split second, and then she was trapped—suspended in a conflux prison just like Saint with the Martyr Mind aiming its line rifle directly at her. If she'd had a heart she was sure it would have stopped cold at the sight. Instead, rage seared the hollow where her heart would be, licking through her body and feeding off of her Light like a starving beast. She could see the Solar energy casting off of her in blistering white waves, scorching away the shadows as she burned brighter and brighter. A brilliant star in the night, more radiant than the Sun and hotter still. Striga let out a furious roar, her wrath lashing out against the Martyr Mind as her Light torched the edges of it's metal frame. 

Saint's voice crackled through her comms, his words muffled and laced with static. 

“I can feel it! I can feel the Light in my bones!” He bellowed, “Martyr Mind! Time to die!”

The prison holding Saint disappeared in a resplendent flash of violet Light. She strained her optics to see Saint flying towards the Martyr Mind, Sentinel Shield at the ready before he launched himself to the ground and straight through the Vex's chassis. The prison holding Striga hostage flickered and fell as the Martyr Mind's body burst into a barrage of radiolaria and limbs, and she could feel Rook practically leaping for joy in her head. 

_We made it, Guardian! **He** made it!_

The Light curling off of her like a solar flare slowly dissipated as she breathed deep, the relief nearly overwhelming her as she shared silently in Rook's celebration. 

They had done it. All of them.

_Take that Osiris!_

Rook shouted the snark through their bond, shaking a mental fist at the Warlock wherever—or whenever—he was. Striga stifled a chuckle as she loped towards Saint. 

_Best not let him hear you getting testy like that, but I have to say that I agree. **Take that Osiris**._

Striga came to a stop in front of Saint, patting the smoke away from the shoulders of her cloak and hood. Saint—who was likewise dusting himself of sand and wiping away stray flecks of mind fluid—turned to her with his head held high and his shoulders squared. 

“It's been such a long time, my friends. I've chased your memory for centuries, and now...now you are here.” He began. Saint's voice wavered only slightly as he moved towards her with his arms outstretched. Almost as if he were going to hug her before thinking better of it. 

“You should go,” He continued, arms now hanging resolutely at his sides, “Those who would kill me are dead. You made sure of that.”

Striga couldn't help but chuckle softly. 

“Actually, you're the one who buried the Martyr Mind. Saw it with my own two eyes.” Striga replied, still laughing as she gestured to the still-sparking mass of metal behind her. 

“And I never would have been able to without you. You truly do fight like a monster, Hunter, and I will forever be in your debt...for everything that you have done.” Saint answered, his voice unusually quiet as he spoke. 

Rook materialized near Striga's head, his tines twirling anxiously as he looked from the Mind to Saint with worry.

“And what if the Vex take your Light again?” Rook asked.

Saint waved the idea away with a derisive snort. 

“Bah. Impossible. It cost them everything to build the Martyr Mind. When you crushed it, they were doomed.”

Striga made to deny, yet again, that this was all her doing, but Rook interrupted.

“You really want us to leave you? You'll be stuck here for years.” He asked, incredulous at the very thought. 

“You've both done plenty.” Saint replied, his tone leaving no room for argument, “Just open the Infinite Forest gate for me. I'll meet you the long way around, at the entrance.”

The telltale glare of more Vex appeared in the distance as he spoke. Hydras, Goblins, Minotaurs—all of them dropping in to try and put an end to the notorious Saint-14 after he'd dodged their masterstroke bullet. Saint pulled the Perfect Paradox from its perch on his back, loading the chamber with a loud click. 

“What's a few more years fighting Vex?” He called, backing towards the small army forming behind him. She could hear the grin in his voice.

Striga felt the strange pull of the Sundial behind her navel once more, and she knew her time in this place was up. Rook disappeared as she lunged forward, grabbing Saint's shoulder like he had done only a short time ago. She'd already begun to dematerialize as the Sundial began to yank her through the space-time continuum, but he turned to her immediately, placing his hand on her forearm. 

“You'd better make it through, Saint-14. Don't make me come back in here.” She warned, “Or, on the Light, I will drag your ass back with me by that pretty purple plume...” 

Saint let out a roar of laughter.

“I do not doubt it, my friend. I swear I will make it back. Traveler knows I don't want to be on your bad side!” He called, releasing her as he backed away with a short, two-fingered salute. “I will see you at the gate, Guardian!”

Striga kept her eyes on his back as he walked through a hail of rifle fire, the image fading from her view as the Sundial called her back to her own reality. 

As she finally was sucked into the awful void, she just missed the sight of Saint-14 turning frantically, a question being called into empty space. 

***

Striga stumbled onto the Sundial platform, the air pummeling into her back like she was standing behind a jet turbine. She threw back her hood and removed her helmet as the blades of the machine slowed and eventually stuttered to a grinding halt. Osiris stepped away from the control panel, his body language tense—hesitant—as his sharp eyes took in her appearance. Torn armor, line rifle burns on the metal, black sand and radiolaria caking the supple leather. 

“Guardian?” He asked. 

Striga turned to him, her optics fixating on him with a blood red gaze. She'd never seen the Warlock unsure before. Not until now. His expression was cautious and laced with unspoken dread as he watched her turn to him fully. It was easy enough to read, even though she could only see his eyes under his hood. He already expected failure...after every impossible thing she had already done. Striga stifled a sigh and struggled to bite back her anger.

“We did it.” She said simply. 

Osiris started like he'd been jolted by an errant arc bolt. 

“ _What?_ ” He breathed, eyes wide as Sagira floated lazily by his head. 

“We did it.” Striga repeated, “Saint-14 is alive.”

“See, I told you the Guardian could do it!” Sagira cheered. Osiris' Ghost whirled in place before bumping against Striga's head in a form of thanks and congratulations. Osiris himself still stared, wide-eyed, his hands limp at his sides. 

“Where is he then?” Osiris asked, his brows finally furrowing in confusion. 

“We couldn't convince him to come back with us right away. He decided he wanted to take the long way around to the gate.” Striga muttered, giving Osiris a knowing look. 

“Of course he did.” Osiris grumbled. 

“You could say that he had a score to settle with the Vex, but I know he'll make it.” Striga replied, gazing behind her in the direction where the gate loomed. Open. Waiting.

“He's fallen once, Guardian. What makes you think he won't again? As always, he's being headstrong. Stubborn. Reckless.” The Warlock chastised. 

“Says the poster child for being headstrong, stubborn, and reckless.” Striga bit back, her optics narrowing. Osiris shot her a warning glare, but his silence spoke volumes. He knew hypocrisy would get him no where with her. 

“And let's just say I uh...I gave him an incentive.” Striga muttered, stowing her weapons and checking her messages. 

“Oh?” Sagira chimed in, floating in front of her datapad and gazing up at her curiously. 

“She threatened him with an ass kicking.” Rook interjected, “Said she'd drag him back by the plume of his helmet. He seemed to believe her. I would have. She _really_ wasn't joking.” 

Striga glanced up from Sagira to see Osiris gazing at her. There was an awkwardly long silence before Osiris broke out into sincere laughter. It was the first time that she had ever heard him give more than a wry chuckle, and she had to keep herself from physically recoiling at the sight. 

“Ah, Striga, no wonder he admired you so.” Osiris snorted, “I think you'd be one of the only people he'd never butt heads with. At least not in a fight. Be warned though, he had it in his head for awhile that it was an appropriate form of greeting.” 

The conversation was interrupted by a call over her emergency bandwidth, the datapad chirping as Eris Morn appeared on the screen. 

“Striga-6. _Where_ have you been!” She hissed, her lips twisted in frustration, “I've been trying to reach you for hours, and the Vanguard would only say that you were with Osiris!” 

“I had a situation to resolve.” Striga replied, “What's going on?”

“You are needed here. On the Moon. _Now!_ ” Eris answered, “A powerful nightmare has presented itself in the form of your old nemesis, the Fanatic. It is imperative that he be silenced before other nightmares are drawn to his essence.” 

Striga looked to Osiris, her expression stern enough to give him pause. 

“He will be coming through the gate. Will you be there for him? He cannot be welcomed back from the dead by nothing but the wind.” Striga asserted, her tone ringing with finality. Even under his mask, she could see Osiris blanch a little. 

“I...cannot. But I promise that someone will be waiting for him.”

“Can't or _won't_...” Striga snarled. Osiris didn't answer, but his eyes hardened and his shoulders stiffened defensively.

_Fucking coward._

“Guardian, time is of the essence. So much has already been wasted!” Eris urged over the comms. 

Striga growled under her breath. Why was it always her?

“We are on our way, Eris. We will be Moonbound in ten.” Rook replied, sensing his Guardian's anger. The transmission was ended as her Ghost sent soothing feelings through their link, coaxing her to calm down before she said something she didn't mean. Striga took in a deep breath before turning to the Warlock and his Ghost.

“ _Do not, **under any circumstance** ,_ send Brother Vance.” She warned, “Send someone he will know. People who will welcome him, not interrogate him about his time in the Forest.” 

Striga thought about it for a moment before her eyes lit up with an idea. 

“Sagira, contact Zavala and Ikora. Tell them that I'm calling in a favor. I don't care which one of them it is, but one of them better be there. Tell them it's my one ask since Cayde. They'll understand.” She explained, holding her palm open for Rook as she prepared to transmat. 

Sagira bobbed an affirmative while Osiris turned to glare at his Sundial, avoiding the accusation in her gaze. 

“I'll say this, and then I'll say nothing more. After all, you're an adult and your relationships are your own responsibility,” Striga sighed, gazing absently towards the gate to the Forest, “But after _all of this_. After all of this work to find him, to save him, to bring him home...you had better not hurt him because of your own cowardice. He will need you here in this new world. Especially after being in that... _that place_. Do not abandon him a second time.” 

Striga didn't even bother to wait for a reply. She disappeared in a whispering flicker of light, leaving Osiris there to ruminate in his lonely realm of sand and ruin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know that this is a LOOOONG chapter, but I guess I had a lot to say about what happened during this. I also know that it took forever, but I was grinding before the expansion and I've been lost on Europa for the last two weeks. I admit that some of this diverges from the dialogue, but I wanted to elaborate just a little on some things. Like how much it would SUCK being trapped in the Infinite Forest, and the type of trauma that something like that would bring. I also always felt that Osiris needed a little bit of a call out too after all was said and done. After the Guardian saved his ass in Curse of Osiris, I think they earned a little bit more freedom of speech than most. 
> 
> A big thank you to anyone who takes the time to read this (and an even bigger thanks to the few that leave feedback). I appreciate each and every single one of you.


	3. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saint-14 struggles upon his return to the City.

Saint-14 gazed absently up at the hangar rafters, watching the pigeons preen and flap their wings in the dim, early morning light. He had lost track of just how long he'd been standing there, swaying in place as he stared. Had it been minutes? Hours? He couldn't remember. All he knew is that the birds were beautiful. They huddled close in their roost as snow drifted in through the open bay doors, the flakes dusting the floor in fine layer of soft powder.

Yes. They were beautiful. This _place_ was beautiful. 

The Last City sprawled out for miles below the Tower, just as it had in Rook's hologram centuries ago. A blanket of twinkling light nestled in a valley surrounded by jagged, snow-capped mountains. Had they always been there? He honestly couldn't remember. His Ghost assured him that they had, but it seemed that many of his memories of home were distorted. Corrupted. Saint tried not to dwell on it too much, but it was easier said than done. So much of this place had changed while he was away, and he often found himself confused. Suspicious. So he took to watching the birds—his only constant—and marveling at the skyscrapers looming on the distant horizon. 

It was all a truly magnificent sight to behold, but he just couldn't bring himself to trust it. This new City...it didn't feel like _home_.

Saint had been like this for the last three days. He knew that Geppetto was beginning to worry about him; he could feel her distress through their neural link. She would follow him as he roamed and worked, her glowing eye wide and wary as she felt him spiral deeper and deeper into... _what?_ Saint sighed longingly as he watched the pigeons shuffle closer together, their soft coos muffled as they crowded their perch to stay warm. What was this that he felt? How could he explain this to her?

He hardly knew. The only thing that he did know was that it was insistent, this feeling. He could always sense it lurking there, prickling away in the back of his mind. During the day, it was easier to ignore; a steady stream of starstruck Guardians had helped to keep him distracted. They would meander their way to the hangar to welcome him—most of them stopping for as long as they could to listen to his stories. 

These drifting Guardians had all been generous, as well. 

Saint-14 had returned during the Dawning, and many of his visitors brought him little gifts. Often it was a beautifully wrapped box of two or three cookies—Lavender Ribbons, made especially for him. They'd all be tied up neatly with a bright purple bow, and gifted with a warm smile or handshake. Some went further and brought him samples of their favorite foods—gifts given in the hope that they would help him acclimate to the new way of life here in the Last City. One enthusiastic group of Hunters had pooled their glimmer together to buy him enough spicy ramen to last him until the next century, and the tiny pantry he had in his galley was stocked to bursting with gifts of dry goods and jerky. Then there were the few that brought him trinkets and souvenirs from their travels. 

Those were his favorites. 

One oddly soft-spoken Titan had shuffled their way to the hangar and gifted him a tiny, delicate pigeon made of smooth, gray stone. The Titan had carved it himself from a rock he'd found in a stream in Old Russia, and attached was a note that had read 'Welcome Home and Happy Dawning' in bold letters. He'd also been given a book of pressed flowers with each specimen impeccably labeled and organized by their planet origin. The Warlock who'd gifted it explained that it was a collection of flora that they'd gathered from every place they had patrolled. The offerings were wholly unexpected and definitely more than he deserved, but Saint accepted them with heartfelt gratitude. He was deeply humbled by their kindness and their enthusiasm at his return, yet it still left him with a strange hollowness in his chest. 

At night—long after the Sun had set—and Saint could no longer distract himself by cleaning his weapons or his armor, the prickling feeling would slink its way into that emptiness and grow with the shadows. He would lay in his bunk on the Pigeon, eyes fixated on something far away as Geppetto watched forlornly from her hammock on the ceiling. The feeling would finally shape itself into something recognizable to him: grief, guilt, fear. 

Loneliness. Crippling, aching loneliness.

The despair of it all perched itself on his chest like a gargoyle made of lead, leaving him stricken and mute beneath his threadbare covers.

 _Loneliness_. 

How many centuries had he trawled through that Light-forsaken place with only Geppetto and the Paradox to keep him company? He liked to think that it hadn't really bothered him, especially not while he was there. After all, he was searching for Osiris of his own accord. _He_ had made that search his mission, and it was easy to ignore his isolation when every waking moment became a fight for survival. Now he was here, safe and surrounded by the vibrancy of life. He could hear the easy laughter of the Guardians with their friends, and he could see the pigeons above him flock together in their nests. It all left him choking on the bitter taste of envy. 

There was no one for him here. No one to laugh with him, to grieve with him. No one to help him shoulder the burdens that he carried. Osiris wouldn't see him. The stubborn ass wouldn't even return his messages. Saint had never felt more alone in his long life, and he found himself wishing more and more that his Guardian was here. Maybe she would understand. 

Saint finally turned away from the pigeons, shaking himself from his stupor. He felt weary all of a sudden, and his feet dragged as he mounted the steps of his ship. There would be no stories today. He needed to rest.

“Maybe tomorrow we go down to the City. Explore some, _da?_ ” Saint suggested, his words slurring a little.

“I think that would be wonderful.” His Ghost replied. 

Geppetto transmatted his armor away as soon as he closed the Pigeon's bay, biding her time as Saint collapsed into his bunk under her watchful eye. She had waited as long as she dared, but she couldn't stand to see her Guardian like this for one more day. Geppetto sent her transmission as Saint drifted off into much-needed sleep. Then she gave his temple a quick bump of affection before nestling into the pillow next to his head. 

***

_**Four Days Earlier** _

Saint's trek to the gate had been the easiest few years of fighting that he'd ever had while in the Infinite Forest. After the defeat of the Martyr Mind, he'd felt as though the Vex had lost some of their spark, so to speak. Saint, however, felt better than ever...like he'd been electrified since the Guardian saved him. Maybe it was knowing that he had dodged a final death—rewritten his own history with her help—but deep down he knew it was her. It had been centuries since the day she'd pulled him from the mud on Mercury, but finally... _finally_ he had seen her again. 

And this time, he felt he had made her proud.

He had made good on his promise to himself: to be worthy of the second chance she had granted him so long ago. Saint had protected the people of the Last City and fought in the Battle of Six Fronts. He'd faced down literal armies of Vex in the Forest and won. He had been able to aid his Guardian, and had struck the final blow against the Martyr Mind. It left him feeling lighter than air; giddy and practically ablaze with renewed vigor. 

As he'd fought his way to the gate, his thoughts would wander to her. How many times had he imagined their next meeting? What he would say to her, how he would thank her for shaping him into the Guardian he is? He'd practiced his speech so many times; pored over every word and possible response until it became one of his favorite daydreams to settle down to. He should have known that reality is often at odds with fantasy, and their reunion would not be as he had imagined it. 

For example, he had not pictured himself caged like an animal, shamefully idle and Lightless as she fought the Martyr Mind. Nor had he imagined himself to be so nervous around her after the battle was over. Considering just how many simulations of her he'd encountered during his time in the Forest, he honestly thought he would have been more prepared. The Guardian, however, had been just as he had remembered—just as he had envisioned. 

Strong, precise, _lethal_. And her Light! Even now he could almost feel the heat as she'd radiated the Light like a star. His star.

But she'd also been kind. Witty. Fearless.

Before she'd left, she had given him a new purpose. Make it out of the Infinite Forest alive, _or else_. Saint still laughed to himself at the thought of her threats. He knew she would absolutely act on them if it came down to it, but he wished that she knew how truly unnecessary they were. It would take the end of the world itself to keep him from making it back to her. 

After all, he still needed to know her name. 

The closer he got to the gate, the harder it was for him to control his emotions. Would she be there waiting for him? Traveler....he hoped so. 

At last, the moment was at hand. Saint-14 beat down the final platoon of Vex blocking his path, slamming his head into the soft midriff of a Minotaur until it crumpled in on itself with a deafening wail. Then he stepped through the gate and into the arid winds of Mercury, blinking through the blinding, blazing sunlight. A crowd of war frames waited at the steps of the gate with weapons at the ready, their chests emblazoned with the symbol of the Vanguard. At the front of the platoon stood Zavala—stoic and steadfast—while the troops behind him snapped to attention. Saint's optics scanned beyond Zavala and beyond the frames, searching the dunes and ruins looming behind them. The disappointment tasted bitter on his tongue as he came up wanting. The Guardian wasn't there. 

Saint descended the steps, the fire in his soul doused considerably in her absence. If Zavala noticed his dismay, he ignored it. Instead, he strode forward with his hand outstretched. 

“A mutual friend of ours told us that you would be returning. She insisted that we be here to welcome you in her absence.” Zavala explained, clasping Saint's hand and giving it a firm shake, “It truly is good to see you.”

Zavala embraced Saint-14 warmly, and Saint returned it, his optics still searching the crowd in the faint hope that she would suddenly appear. As he searched, he noticed another glaring absence.

“Where is Osiris?” Saint asked as they separated. A small part of him had hoped to see him here as well, considering he'd worked so hard to bring him back. 

The corners of Zavala's lips turned down into a frown. 

“He's...calibrating his machine. When we asked if he would be here, he stated that he needed to make sure the timelines were stable...for your safety. He sends his apologies.” Zavala replied. The explanation was brief and diplomatic—lacking—but Saint could read between the lines. He scoffed under his breath with his hands on his hips. 

Stubborn, pig-headed, old mule.

“And...and the Guardian.” He asked quietly. He felt sheepish asking after her like this, but he needed to know. He had waited so long for this moment...

“She's on the Moon.” Zavala replied, “She was called there on an emergency immediately after her return through the Sundial. Many things have changed since you were with us, Saint. But I can promise you that she would have been here if there were any other way.” 

Saint nodded in understanding, feeling guilty for even asking. Of course a Guardian of her skill and stature would be needed, and she was needed more than ever it seemed. The lines etched into Zavala's face were much deeper than Saint remembered—his back a little less straight—and the sight troubled him.

“I see.” Saint murmured, “Thank you for being here, Zavala. I appreciate it, truly.”

The Commander nodded stiffly, but his smile was warm. Saint knew he would have wanted to be here anyway, even if the Guardian hadn't asked him to. 

“I have a small favor to ask, if I may?” Saint asked, staring off into the distance. His hands were still braced on his hips—a lame effort to maintain some sort of composure. He swallowed down the swell of misplaced anger and disappointment crawling up his throat and turned back to Zavala.

“Name it.”

“If it is...uh, acceptable, I would like to go to the City to wait for the Guardian's return. This place...I would like to be as far away from it as I can.”

Zavala started as if he'd been struck, his expression incredulous. 

“There was never any question of you returning to the City, old friend. It's long passed time for you to come home.”

***

_**Present Day** _

Saint took a long, deep breath, savoring the feel of the frigid mountain air. 

After waking from an almost solid twenty-four hours of sleep, Geppetto had insisted he make good on his suggestion to visit the City. So he'd put on his armor, adjusted his ribbons, and transmatted down. At first, it was only to make his Ghost happy. The suggestion had been for her benefit in the first place—an attempt to ease her growing worry about his state of mind. However, the more he roamed the better he felt, and soon he found himself humming as he soaked up the weak winter sunlight.

He was delighted to see that the people had come together and decorated for the Dawning. It was clear that they'd gone all out for the occasion. Strings of lights and floating paper lanterns brightened the whole city, and gold and blue banners were hung as far as the eye could see. There were also candles flickering in the windows, and little tinkling bells hanging on the door handles. Nature had even lent a hand in the festivities. Fine layers of sparkling snow dusted the rooftops, and great piles of it lined the sides of the streets. 

It was a beautiful sight to see, but the décor was nothing compared to the sight of the children playing in the freshly fallen powder. It was just as Rook had said all those centuries ago. Peals of laughter echoed off of the nearby snowbanks as they threw snowballs and slid down hills on makeshift sleds. Saint didn't miss that they were all strong and well-fed, their cheeks plump and rosy in the cold morning air. After seeing so many children go hungry during his time, the sight left him warm with happiness. 

Geppetto was happy too, though happy didn't quite feel like the appropriate term. Overjoyed, ecstatic. Those seemed more fitting, and it was so strong it was nearly overwhelming. Her relief and enthusiasm at his good mood practically poured out of her through their link, and part of him felt extremely guilty to have caused her so much worry.

They took a few minutes to watch the children play, and Saint suddenly found himself becoming their new source of intrigue. At first they were only pointing and whispering while he stood there in the snow, feeling somewhat awkward as they all turned to stare at him. Then a few brave little ones approached him, their eyes wide as saucers as they asked if he was really _the_ Saint-14 from the stories. Saint couldn't help but laugh as he nodded.

“At least I think I am. I only know one Saint-14.” He mused.

That was all it took. Before he knew it he was swarmed, their little hands grasping at his and pulling him down to their level. 

“Where have you been? My Oma told us that you died a long, long time ago somewhere far away.” One child asked, her words lisping through the gap left by her two missing front teeth. Behind him, Saint felt a pair of hands clambering against the back of his helmet to get at his purple plume.

“Your Oma is stupid!” Another child insisted—a little boy with wide, dark eyes and braids peeking out from under his wool hat, “He's a Titan, and Titans don't die. _Everyone_ knows that.” 

“Now, now. There is no need to fight.” Saint interjected, reaching behind him to catch the rascal attacking his helmet. A little girl no older than five giggled and squealed as he pulled her around to face him, a bright red headscarf tied under her chin in a neat little bow. 

“If you want to know I will tell you. _Da?_ ” 

The next thing he knew, he was being dragged by a mob of chattering kids to a rough wooden bench. They all settled in, some finding their way next to him while two smaller children each commandeered one of his knees. Saint's heart glowed as their excited faces peered up at him expectantly, waiting for a spectacular tale. 

“Now, your Oma was partially right. I was somewhere far away, and I had been lost for a very long time.” Saint explained, “But I was rescued by someone very special.”

“ _Who?_ ” The toothless girl breathed.

“I believe she has many names. Do you know of the Hero of the Red War?” Saint asked.

There was a loud affirmative, and he couldn't help but laugh at their enthusiasm. Of course they would know of his Guardian. 

“She saved my life. _Twice_. And because of her, I was able to find my way home.” He whispered, leaning forward dramatically. The audible gasp he received in return nearly had him laughing again.

“How?” 

“Well, you see, she had help from the Warlock, Osiris. He built this great big machine....” He began, settling in for his story. 

Behind him, Geppetto's eye watched him with barely concealed relief. Of course, she knew that this happiness wasn't permanent. Not after his time in the Forest. There was a long road ahead for the both of them, but Saint was the strongest person she knew. At least this would be a start towards healing. As she watched him animatedly tell his story, Geppetto hoped that he wouldn't notice the undercurrent of her excitement buzzing through their link. 

She had received wonderful news and she wanted it to be a surprise—sort of a Dawning present.

The Hunter had responded to her message at last, and she was coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, Happy New Year everyone! This chapter took WAY LONGER THAN IT SHOULD HAVE. I'd wanted to get this out forever ago but my plans and my life did not cooperate at all. I moved in early December and then the holidays hit. Just...yikes. I hope that whoever is reading this had a wonderful, safe, healthy holiday and that their year is infinitely better than the 2020 hellscape we all just crawled through. Saint finally made it back to the City, and I was originally going to have the Guardian show up during this chapter. It ended up running super long though so I split the chapters up. HOPEFULLY the next bit will be out in the next few days. As always, I appreciate any and all of you who stumble on this mess and give it a read. Thank you. And an even bigger thank you to anyone who takes the time to leave kudos/comment. You guys rule.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Thanks so much for taking the time to read this. My plan is to make this into a shortish little series dedicated to the relationship between my favorite Titan and my hunter. Kudos/comments are super appreciated. I'd love to know what you think.


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